


Until we meet again

by Poyo_Chan64



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Mention of Rothfrye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27759598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poyo_Chan64/pseuds/Poyo_Chan64
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 22





	Until we meet again

_A long time ago, in the Victorian London era, were two men: a young Assassin and a man of theatre. The two men, leaders of opposite gangs, partook in an impossible partnership, and eventually, as they worked side by side, fell in love._

_As the years progressed, their love for each other never burned away and instead flourished despite the odds and all the adversity that came their way. When the time came for death to part them, they vowed to one another that they’d be reunited in another life._

_And so they waited…and waited…and waited. Until they met again._

* * *

**[October 2015, Leicester Square, London]**

It was a chill and relatively calm night in the city of London. While most of the city was sound asleep, it’s activity never truly ceased, and the more questionable and cruel characters came out to play. Concealed by the night, two figures in black clothing were hanging near the New Alhambra Music Hall - a prestigious theater named after the first Alhambra that was built in 1854.

The two mysterious figures were young adults in their early twenties. They were equal in height and dressed in black pants and black hoodies, complete with gloves. The first one, with a more feminine silhouette, was towering over the second, a male one, who was crouched down in front of the back entrance door and picking the lock.

“Are you done yet?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“Almost,” he answered, working his way around the lock using a couple of paperclips. “Just give me another minute.”

“The faster, the better, Jake. We don’t have all night.”

“I know. Be patient with me here.”

He continued fumbling with his cheap tools for another minute until he finally managed to get them at the right angle, allowing him to unlock the lock.

“There you go. Door unlocked!” Jake beamed before turning toward his sister and partner in crime. “Happy now, Evelyn?”

“Yes, very,” Evelyn answered dryly. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

Jake opened the door in a gentlemanly fashion. “After you, madam.”

Evelyn playfully rolled her eyes and went inside, soon followed by her brother. Jake closed the door behind them, plunging the two of them into darkness. Evelyn reached for her backpack and pulled out two flashlights. She switched one on before tossing one to her accomplice.

“I think we're backstage,” Jake noted as he looked around with his flashlight.

“This place is quite big, so I think we should go separate ways,” Evelyn suggested. “I’ll go to the front. There’s got to be some money at the ticket office and the bar.”

“Alright then, I’ll stay around the stage and see if I can find anything,” Jake replied. “Be careful, okay, sis?”

“You too, Jake.” Evelyn smiled at her brother before walking ahead and leaving the auditorium. Jake then started looking around for anything that they could sell. He walked around with ease as though he knew the place despite never having set foot in it before. He knew precisely where to go, where to look, and it was so bizarre. How could this place feel so… _familiar_ to him? And why?

But so far, the odd sense of familiarity had proven itself useful. It made his search more efficient and quick. He managed to get his hand on a couple pieces of expensive jewelry and some renowned brand of perfume. A great start, but it never hurt to look for more.

While he looked around, his flashlight shined upon a chest. It looked like one of those old luggage suitcases they used back in the Victorian era. Intrigued, he walked over to it, opened it with ease, and started rummaging through its contents.

“A lot of masquerade masks,” he whispered to himself while holding a silver mask that covered the eyes and the top of the nose. It also had purple lining on the upper and side borders.

As he continued his search, his eyes settled upon one that looked far more unique than the others. He picked it up, looking at it more closely, and his breath suddenly hitched. The golden mask was obviously old, covered with burn marks. It would cover the whole face, had copper lips curved in a forever smile and delicate swirls lining the cheekbones with hair that stood on end to form the illusion of flames.

Jake felt his throat tighten, and he couldn’t help but stare. A wave of nostalgia and sadness took over him. He had never seen this mask before in his life, yet he could have sworn he knew it. And then, in the blink of an eye, the mask in his hand was looking brand new. The golden surface gleamed brightly as if they was a fire shining upon it. A faint laugh echoed in his ears, as well as the crackling of flames.

“Who’s there!?” A voice suddenly brought him back to reality.

Jake sprung to his feet and tried to get away but tripped in his rush. He yelped as he fell, dropping the mask. Light engulfed the room. Jake winced a bit and put his forearm in front of his eyes to shield him from the sudden brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around. There were huge pieces of background décor, cut out trees, railings filled with costumes, barrels, crates, props and accessories scattered about as well as many posters of plays from over the years hanging on the walls. Then his eyes went toward the individual standing near the light switch.

It was a man, possibly twice his age. He was dressed in a casual suit and tie, complete with a set of black gloves and nice leather shoes. He had a small triangular moustache, as well as a small goatee under his chin, short chestnut hair and green eyes were looking at him with a stern look.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked as he walked towards him. “The theater is closed.”

“I…Huh…”

Jake stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, mouth slightly agape but unable to speak. The man was good looking, but there was something else. His heart skipped a beat. It was like he had known him forever…yet it was the first time he had ever seen him. His throat constricted, and his heart ached. Why was that?

The man stopped and stared. For a moment, he looked as shocked as Jake was, as if Jake was looking familiar to him too. But then his face softened, his eyes looking at him with genuine concern.

“Are you alright, my boy?” For brief instant, his voice sounded more rough, like he smoked ten package of cigarettes a day. His face looked a bit more wrinkled and the goatee was gone. Instead, a huge scar lingered along the right side of his face, and his clothing, while still being classy, looked more Victorian. But as quickly as it appeared, it faded away like ashes in the wind. Leaving Jake utterly confused. Who was that man? Why does he make his heart ache so much? What was wrong with him?

Jake stayed silent, his brown eyes avoiding the green ones looking at him and instead glanced at the golden mask laying on the floor. The man followed his gaze. Smiling in recognition, he walked over to the mask and picked it up. He then wiped some dust off it using the cuff of his sleeve.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” he asked. “They said that this mask belonged to Maxwell Roth.”

“Maxwell…Roth?” That name… Even the name felt familiar.

“He was the previous owner of the Alhambra Musical Hall, the very same theater in which you and I are both standing in today,” the man explained.

“I thought this place was called the New Alhambra Music Hall?” Jake said while getting back up.

“That would be the current name, yes. The original Alhambra burned down and was demolished in 1936. When it was rebuilt, they wanted it to look exactly the same as before. With current technological advancements, of course.” He looked at the mask, admiring its details. “They said that this mask was worn by Mr. Roth during the fire of 1868. Many speculate that _he_ was the one who set fire to the place, but we have yet to discover whether or not that's true.”

“I see…” What felt like memories flashed through his mind: a fire, a man, the same as before, standing in the middle of a stage while laughing, screams, gunfire, blades clashing together…then a voice, the man’s voice, which pulled him back to reality.

He blinked.

“Huh? I’m sorry did you say something?”

“Have you spaced out young man?” The man slightly chuckled. “I said that the gold on this mask isn’t real, so you won’t be able to get much out of it. In fact, you won’t find anything in this chest that is worth selling, so I advise against stealing from it.”

Jake winced and stared at the floor, muttering a small “sorry.” The man sighed before reaching for something in his pocket.

“Catch.”

Jake didn’t have much time to react as the man tossed something to him. He fumbled a bit but managed to catch what happened to be a simple looking leather wallet. Curious, he opened it. Upon looking at the contents, his eyes went wide, and he stopped breathing. There was at least five thousand pounds in there!

“Will that be enough?” the man asked.

Jake’s head snapped up at the man while his jaw dropped.

“W-what?!” he stammered. “Y-you can’t be serious!”

“Dead serious.” There was no hesitation in his voice or expression.

“B-But why?”

“Why not? A couple of thousand less won’t make much of a difference to the theater’s income.”

“But-

“Just take the money. You obviously need it more than me.”

Jake hesitantly tossed it in his bag.

“I…Thank you,” Jake blurted out. What else could he say?

“You are more than welcome, my boy. Now tell me, what is your name?”

“Jake. Jake Frye.”

“Well, my dear Jake, if you ever find yourself in need, do come see me. Legally next time.” He winked, and Jake blushed. God, this man was gorgeous.

“Y-Yes, of course! Thank you, Mr.…”

“Marx. Marx Thowell.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thowell.” He nodded before hauling his bag back on his shoulder and jogged towards the exit.

Marx watched the young man leave with a smile on his face. His eyes went back towards the mask held in his grasp. Smiling once more, he closed his eyes and gently put the mask down on a table nearby.

Unknown to him, a black gloved and ghostly hand brushed his finger over the surface of the mask. This hand belonged to the ghost of an older man harboring the same moustache as Marx and a scar on the right side of his face. He raised his head and gazed in the same direction as Marx.

 _“We meet again, my dear,”_ the ghost whispered, a contented smile crossing his lips as he closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, Jake regrouped with his sister outside of the theater.

“How did it go?” Jake asked. “Did you find anything?”

“A little,” she answered. “I managed to get my hand on a couple hundred pounds. What about you?”

Jake opened his bag and proudly showed her the things he'd stolen, along with the five thousand pounds Marx gave him. His grin only widened upon seeing the shocked expression on his sister’s face.

“Holy shit, Jake! How did you manage to get that much?!”

“Well, a rich gentleman forgot his wallet backstage. So I helped myself.” He hid his lie behind a smirk.

“Jake, this is amazing! This will take care of us for weeks!” Evelyn was ecstatic, which brought a smile upon her brother’s face, and it warmed his heart to see her so happy. “Come on, let’s go to the pawn shop to sell what you grabbed.”

Evelyn led the way, and they walked away from the theater. But before going, Jake stopped and glanced one more time at the New Alhambra. His mind went back to Marx, and his heart fluttered.

Oh, he was definitely going to see him again.

Unknown to Jake, the ghost of a man his age dressed in assassin garb was standing right beside him, looking at the theater with the same loving smile.

 _“We meet again,”_ the ghost whispered.


End file.
